


Boots

by FandomN00b



Series: Generosity & Hubris [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pirate Kink, adorably awkward conversations about sex, explaining a kink, pirate boots, well at least i find them adorably awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: Merrill makes a request of her vhenan. Isabela has little chill when it comes to her beloved Merrill.
Relationships: Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Series: Generosity & Hubris [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022236
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polymorphic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polymorphic/gifts).



> This was to fill a blessed Merribela prompt from era: (number 27 from [Awkward Sex Tropes](https://fandomn00blr.tumblr.com/post/636140574135795712/awkward-sex-tropes)) explaining a kink

“Vhen _aan_ …” Merrill tries not to hang onto that last syllable in such a pleading way. Generosity has _never_ required supplication. And she wants to be brave, wants to ask as openly and honestly as she knows her heart will give. 

But she can’t help it. She _is_ pleading for something. Something she’s been thinking about a lot lately. Every time her heart comes breezing gloriously through the door smelling of salt and wind and thunderstorms and the sun. She looks forward to the way she sheds the skin of the Pirate Queen, the Admiral of the Waking Sea, and burrows cozily into the little nest they've built together here, she really does.

 _But_...she also thinks longingly about Isabela’s fancy hat as it gets cast aside, and her daggers, tossed to the floor, cold steel glinting in the warm cozy light of the torches and candles. And her boots... _Creators_! Merrill has been thinking so much about those boots!

“ _Yeessss_ …?” Isabela mocks the slow, drawn-out neediness in her voice. It is a rare thing to hear from the sweet excitable little elf who never really asks for anything in return for her endlessly patient adoration.

Merrill blushes, of course, because she actually _misses_ being teased like this sometimes, too. The others who might’ve done so are scattered -- Fenris and Hawke to grieve and mourn and celebrate together where it hurts a little bit less. Varric and Aveline and Bethany are here, but they’re always so busy these days rebuilding the city. She has made new friends in the Alienage, but none that would tease her like _this_. They seem to revere her instead, some of them even call her Keeper, and she’s given up on correcting them as she tries to figure out where she still fits here when her heart, the only home she’s ever truly really known to be _hers_ , is away at sea.

Isabela opens her arms wide and beckons her to come closer. “What is it?”

Merrill resists the urge to claim her favorite place in Isabela’s lap, staring at her with a look of determination in her flushed cheeks, and Isabela feels her spine straighten instinctively in response. _Oh no_...has she done something wrong? Something she’s said or not said or forgotten? It doesn’t matter that she’s nearly middle-aged and in command of an entire fleet of fearsome raiders. That sense of being suddenly and unexpectedly “in trouble” with someone who’s meant to love you unconditionally, it always reduces her to Naishe, to the trembling little girl she’s tried her whole life to leave behind.

No, this is _Merrill_ , she reminds herself. Her love and her light and everything soft and sweet and good. And though she knows she’s never done anything to deserve her, she knows she’s safe. She _knows_. Still, she can’t help it. Maybe she’s been wrong to get so comfortable. Maker knows it’s happened before. She shifts her weight to one hip to mask the panic as it begins to work itself from her chest shuddering out into her shoulders.

Merrill recognizes her anxiousness in spite of Isabela’s best efforts to hide it, and she rushes to her. “Oh no! It’s not -- oh, _please_ don’t worry!” 

Isabela’s arms wrap shakily around her and they fall to the ground and Merrill has half a mind to just curl up into her and cover her with kisses and forget the whole conversation she’s been rehearsing in her head all day. It’s already not going as planned, and she hasn’t even really begun!

This is Hubris. Certainly. Who is _she_ to demand anything from the one who gives her everything that matters in the world? But Hubris has never _really_ led her astray before...

So Merrill takes a deep breath. “I want to try something...something a bit different.” Her voice wavers, only a little. “I mean, if you agree. If you _want_ to...”

“You mean...like, a different tea mix? Or a new tavern?” Isabela laughs, trying unsuccessfully to hide her lingering unease at Merrill’s very serious face.

“Goodness, _no_! Nothing so extreme as that!” Merrill looks earnestly aghast at the thought of either of these suggestions, and Isabela resists the urge she has to laugh about that, too.

“I was just wondering if you could...when we -- well, first of all, we should make love tonight.” Not that this is anything particularly new or different. But Merrill thinks it never really hurts to say it, right?

“Great!” Isabela grins, tucking one of Merrill’s braids behind her ear. Her hand has stopped trembling at least. “You know I’m always happy to oblige.”

“But!” Merrill leans away from her, and Isabela tries her best to look her in the eyes. She has something to say, and Isabela really _should_ be listening, not just staring at her perfectly-shaped lips as she nibbles at the bottom of one of them fretfully. “I want you to put your boots on first.”

“Oh.” So this is what she’s been blushing about? Could she _be_ any more perfect?

“And not just the boots…” Merrill stammers.

“Oh?”

“I want…the full _Admiral_ Isabela experience…”

“I _see_ …”

“Like, I want you to maybe be a little bit rough?” Merrill’s voice pitches upwards.

Isabela’s eyebrow raises to match. “How rough are we talking, Sweet Thing?”

“You could hold me down…?”

“Yeah? Okay...I _think_ I could get into that.” She grips both of her arms and squeezes. “Like this?”

Merrill nods as a fresh blush blooms down from her cheeks to her neck. “Or maybe even tie me up?” she squeaks. She feels so ridiculous, allofasudden as Isabela’s pupils blow wide and she quickly releases her.

“ _Shit_ …” Isabela hisses.

“Or not if you don’t want to!”

“No, _Kitten_...that’s just…” she groans. “It’s just really hot.”

“That’s...good, right?”

Isabela laughs again. It’s still a little nervous-sounding at first, which is actually a relief to them both, but then it goes all low and sultry and Merrill thinks it’s exactly what she had in mind. She’s missed seeing this side of her as they’ve settled into domesticity, or as close as she knows they’ll ever get to it. She used to admire it from afar, taking delight in the way her lover could steal the spotlight in a noisy bar with a swish of her hips just as quickly and easily as she could take half a dozen enemies out with a swish of her blades.

“Mmhmm...”

Isabela stands up, offering Merrill her hand and pulling her up to standing. Then she strides over to the door, where her boots lay kicked off in a heap. She pulls them back on, slowly, her gorgeous red-brown eyes flickering dangerously in the candlelight as she keeps them focused on Merrill the entire time.

And Merrill watches, completely enraptured. She’s seen Isabela put her boots on before, of course, but it’s usually in a rush on her way out the door after saying a reluctant goodbye to a warm cozy bed with feverish kisses and curses and hurried apologies for things outside of her control like the weather or the news that another ship full of refugees has been mysteriously re-routed toward the Amaranthine. 

It’s never been like _this_. Never just for her.

Isabela works her way up, tightening buckles and laces with increasingly shameless _oohs_ and _mmphs_ , and Merrill feels like she might die from the anticipation that’s building within her. She has to fight every urge she has not to run over and tackle Isabela to the floor.

Once she’s done, Isabela swaggers over to Merrill with a wickedly victorious grin. “So what now? You want me to tell you to walk the plank? Or squawk like a parrot? Or shall we hoist the sails here in the middle of our...”

Merrill’s eager face falls tragically into a frown, and Isabela realizes her mistake before the words even finish leaving her mouth.

“You’re making fun of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Isabela grimaces apologetically, reaching softly for her chin. “This shouldn’t be so hard for me. But you’re...you’re _you_. And I love you. And I just -- ”

“I love you, _too_ ,” Merrill huffs impatiently. “But this isn’t…it’s not about that!” She shrugs Isabela off of her and looks down at the ground, very nearly pouting. “Just forget I said anything...”

“Oh no no no no _no_!” Isabela cries. “You liked the boot thing, right?”

Merrill nods hopefully up at her. “Uh-huh.”

“Ok, then let’s try this again. You do that wide-eyed feigned innocent thing you’re so good at…”

Merrill looks at her, blinking demurely. “I’m sure _I_ don’t know what you mean…”

“Yes. Perfect! Don’t move! I’ll go get my hat, and some rope, and we’ll do it right.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, on Varric’s magnificent chest hair…”

Merrill nods excitedly, already breaking character as she bobs up and down. “And then next time, _I’ll_ be the pirate! Oh, but do you suppose your boots will fit me?”

“Oh, Kitten, we can _definitely_ get you your own pair of boots…”


End file.
